Respira
by The J.A.M. a.k.a. Numbuh i
Summary: Partially inspired by “The Rat From Perfecto” by José Ramiro Acosta Pérez. The sniper scene from “Mary”, from Rhubella's point of view. One of my shorter fanfics. A few corrections done on it.
1. Trailer!

TONIGHT

ON THE ABC WEEKEND SPECIAL SATURDAY MORNING MOVIE:

"Consciences can also be revived, but the CPR procedure for that is rather unpleasant." — The J.A.M..

**_STEVEN SPIELBERG PRESENTS / PRESENTA / APRESENTA_**

"_-CME Breaking News Special Report."  
_  
"_Good evening, I'm Biff Windosck filling in for our regular anchorwoman, Mary Melody."_

"…_working furiously to counter the drug overdose she received earlier today while commuting from Acme Looniversity…"_

"…_still unclear how Mary Melody was shot, but witnesses say that she appeared to be protecting a furry toon, apparently also a student of…"_

"…_still unclear on whether she or the other toon, or both, were the intended targets. Acme Acres Police is beginning investigations…"_

**AN OFFER SHE COULDN'T REFUSE…**

_I just sat there, shocked, not at the amount of money, but by the fact that Montana had offered it without even blinking. _

…_breathe…_

**A CHANCE TO BEST THE LOOSERS…**

_Pathetic Acme looser. Following his own set patterns like a robot. _

…_breathe…_

**A SHOT AT GREATNESS…**

"_Imagine that: two rodents successfully hunting one of the largest feline predators in the world."_

…_breathe…_

**A PERFECT TARGET…**

_Sure, he was a moving target, but it's not as if he were jogging, zigzagging, or even worse, warping everywhere, which would have made everyone's shot completely impossible._

…_breathe…_

**A PERFECT PLAN…**

"…_and if they all fire at the same time, we can get a quadruple dose on him, which, according to the charts, will knock him out in ten seconds, at most. No amount of tolerance will be able to save him now." _

…_breathe…_

**A RELUCTANT RODENT…**

_Still, as I held the metal in my paws, it felt strange, foreign, alien… _

…_breathe…_

**SOMEONE SHE DIDN'T COUNT ON…**

"_WARP! WAAARP! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRPPP!"_

…_breathe…_

**AND WHEN EVERYTHING WENT WRONG…**

"_SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE!" _

…_hold your breath—_

**WHAT—**

**WENT—**

**THROUGH—**

**HER—**

**MIND?**

**TRESS MACNEILLE**

_What…_

…_have…_

…_I…_

…_done…?_

**RESPIRA**

"…_Don't hold your breath…"_

**_NEXT / NÄCHSTE / A CONTINUACION / A SEGUIR_**


	2. Prologue

(...unWARP!)

Good evening.

FOREWORD

This story was partially inspired by the fanfic "The Rat From Perfecto" by José Ramiro Acosta Pérez. It's recommended that "The Rat From Perfecto" and "Mary" (my story) be read before reading this fanfic.

* * *

_One tan-furred paw opened the rifle's firing chamber, loaded the huge dart, and shut the chamber again._

Relax, just relax_, she told herself._

"_Stand by," she heard on her headset._

…breathe…

_Twenty metres from the bull's-eye._

_She was glad to have worn pants today, as she needed to half-kneel in order to bring the rifle to position. Looking through the telescopic sight, she saw her target approaching._

_She glanced down at the white lines next to the divider. This should be easy._

"_Stand by at the van."_

…breathe…

_Fifteen metres from the bull's-eye._

_She sighed, and brought the sight on her target again. From her angle, the right shoulder and chest muscles were completely open. Being one of the larger muscles of the body meant that they had more blood flow than other muscles, meaning that the tranquilliser would have a perfect spot to be injected._

…breathe…

_Ten metres from the bull's-eye._

_She kept her rifle steady. Sure, he was a moving target, but it's not as if he were jogging, zigzagging, or even worse, warping everywhere, which would have made everyone's shot completely impossible._

…breathe…

_Nine metres from the bull's-eye._

_The image in her telescope grew steadier as he approached._

…breathe…

_Eight metres from the bull's-eye._

_He was leaning forward, like mostly any cyclist would._

…breathe…

_Seven metres from the bull's-eye._

_She made her final decision and steadied her sight on his shoulder. If he should straighten up at the last moment, she would still be able to get a hit on the chest._

…breathe…

_Six metres from the bull's-eye._

_Her heartbeat was normal. Her breathing was normal._

…breathe…

_Five metres from the bull's-eye._

_Was it the same for the others?_

…breathe…

_Four metres from the bull's-eye._

_This was almost too easy. After all, it was the rifle that did most of the work. She just had to keep it steady._

…breathe…

_Three metres from the bull's-eye._

_Pathetic Acme looser. Following his own set patterns like a robot. True, she was helping other loosers, but at least they were paying her getting good money for this._

…breathe…

_Two metres from the bull's-eye._

…hold your breath…

_One metre from the bull's-eye._

_This was it._

"_Fire!"_

…squeeze…

_Since she was shooting a dart and not a bullet, the rifle didn't go "bang" but more like a muffled "choon"._

_(CHOON!)_

_See what I mean?_

_Her telescope showed that her dart, with a red marker, had firmly embedded itself on the jaguar's right shoulder. Quickly, she pulled the rifle away and looked down from behind the rampart._

_She could see two other darts embedded on him as well, on the other shoulder and the right thigh. The fourth would be either on the left lower back or maybe even the gluteus maximus._

_The black van turned into the street and sped toward the wobbling cyclist. The vehicle slowed as it approached, and the door slid open. Dark figures inside reached out to catch the feline just as he lost consciousness, and pulled him inside, bike and all, before he could topple to the pavement. The door slid shut and the van sped off, and it all took less than ten seconds._

"_PERFECT!" yelled Montana.

* * *

_

"Consciences can also be revived, but the CPR procedure for that is rather unpleasant." — The J.A.M.

Tress MacNeille

Charles Adler

Danny Cooksey

Joe Alaskey

RESPIRA

with appearances by

Cree Summer Franks

Wolf Blitzer

and The J.A.M. as himself

Written by The J.A.M. (but please call me J.A.M.)

Edited by Jerry D. Withers

_To Furrball, Rottin Kid, and José, for the inspiration. _


	3. An Offer She Couldn't Refuse

I — AN OFFER SHE COULDN'T REFUSE

_(CLICK)_

_The scene flickered in front of Rhubella as she stood and the simulator shut down, leaving four toons in a huge blue chamber that had a thin white grid on the walls, floor, and ceiling._

Roddy came up to me and hugged me, still holding his rifle, happy at how much I had improved over the weekend. The simulator had helped us get the feel of the rifles, the loading, and the whole sniper operation. My aim hadn't been that good at first, but in less than three days I could very much shoot off that jaguar's earring at 20 metres while blindfolded. Well, maybe not blindfolded, but the telescopic sight did do most of the work; I doubt I would have been able to do it without it.

I smiled weakly, still holding my own rifle. Roddy had seen how uncomfortable I had been when I first held that weapon, but he and the others assured me that we weren't going to use bullets or even a lethal dose of tranquilliser, only enough to knock out that panther for a day or two: enough to skin him and ship him back to Mexico where he belonged.

It had started last week. Roddy and I were waiting for our limousines in front of the entrance to Perfecto Prep. It had been another long day of not studying and criticising everything and everyone who wasn't from Perfecto, and I was looking forward to soaking in my own Jacuzzi instead of using the one here. We hadn't been waiting long when a limousine suddenly zoomed in and stopped in front of us. From the looks of it, it wasn't mine or Roddy's, or of any other student here.

The back window rolled down, and you can imagine our shock when we saw that it was that looser, Montana Max.

"Hey, Roddy, how would you like to get back the money you lost at the Acme Bowl?" he asked before we could tell him to get his looser limo off our campus.

Roddy froze for a moment, as I did, quite surprised at Montana's sudden offer. "Offer" was, of course, a misnomer. We all knew that whenever Montana made an offer of ANY kind he always tried to find a way to pay as little as possible, if at all.

"What do you want, looser?" asked Roddy.

"Get in," he replied, unfazed, as his door opened almost by itself.

"Listen, looser! If you think I'm going to defile myself by getting into a looser limo, you're—"

"How would you like to get your money back AND get rid of a looser?"

I stiffened at that, wondering what Montana meant. Roddy asked for me, "What do you mean 'get rid'?"

"Get in," he repeated. There was seriousness in Montana's face that almost seemed foreign, as if maybe this was no average "deal" he wanted to make.

Roddy looked at me for a moment, and then back at Montana. Suddenly, my boyfriend grabbed my paw and dragged me into the limousine. The door almost closed on my tail and we were suddenly driving away very fast.

Once inside, I was rather surprised to see that Montana had equipped his limousine with just about every luxury we knew about, including a big screen TV. One thing that was annoying, though, was the nearly overwhelming combined scents of paper money (his preferred air freshener) and concentrated human. Just as well, if he were to ride in Roddy's limo or mine he might have not liked the scent of rat musk or fresh cheese.

"Okay, looser, what's this all about?" asked Roddy.

Montana looked at us and began, "There is a looser, a newcomer AND a troublemaker, that just can't seem to understand who's the richest in the Looniversity. Not only that, he's attacked my girl, and two other girls as well. And yet, he's somehow managed to turn my techie against me, as well as gaining the loyalties of the faculty, the local media and several no-names."

When Montana said he had attacked other females, I suddenly started getting VERY interested in getting rid of whomever he was talking about. I asked, "If he has attacked females, why hasn't the Loo thrown him out?"

"I was just getting to that. This guy has managed to make his attacks look like acts of self-defence, but I ask you: do you think that a JAGUAR would need to 'defend' himself from a ditzy human girl?"

We were silent for a moment. A jaguar against a human girl? "That must have been an interesting staging on his part, Montana," I replied. "If he _indeed_ managed to make it look like the girl attacked him and he had no choice but to retaliate. So you want to get rid of this jaguar, but apparently you can't do so by yourself?"

"Well, you can't say I haven't tried. This is no ordinary jaguar. Despite him being fat, he moves very fast, and he can sneak up on you while you're still thinking you're sneaking up on him. Even an attack from a skunk failed miserably. Also, he must have some type of strange magnetic repulsors that can somehow shield him from lightning bolts."

"So you couldn't shoot him if you wanted to?" asked Roddy.

"That's the strange thing: To make sure, I threw a few metal bb's at his back, but they were not magnetically repelled. He has protection from lightning, but not from anything else."

That's when I realised what Montana wanted to do. "Wait—you want to—kill this guy?"

He looked at me, "Why, don't be silly, rodent. I just want to shoot him with a tranquilliser and ship that wetback back to Mexico where he belongs!"

"He's a Mexican?" asked Roddy, suddenly rather interested in this project. We never did like foreigners, unless they were rich or famous.

"Yes, and he's smarter than I thought he would be. But he won't go back to Mexico without paying for his stay here. Once we knock him out, me and another friend will remove his hide—" he leaned closer, "—that's my girl's idea."

For some reason, I was feeling more and more disgusted at the offer, even if the intended target was someone who attacked females. "Won't that KILL HIM, looser?"

He looked at me for a moment, and then he laughed, "I guess there are some things that they still haven't taught you at your Prep. Listen, rodent, we're toons, so we're more than capable of skinning this wetback alive while KEEPING him alive. He'll survive the skinning, and the trip back. If you're still concerned, then rest assured that his fur will grow back…eventually," he leaned back again.

"What exactly do you need us for, looser? And what's in it for us?" asked Roddy.

"You will just need to be standing in the right place at the right time: it might be just shoving him into a bag, or a passing car; I'm still working out those details. I have another friend who is keeping tabs on that wetback to see where the best place to pull off our 'hunt' will be. As to what's in it for you, well…I'm sure you'll be the talk of the year when all the other Perfectoids hear how two rodents managed to get the best of a feline, and a jaguar, to boot!"

We looked at him for a moment. The times where a rodent would get the best of a feline was often staged, like with Tom and Jerry and other shows like that. Perhaps hunting a jaguar would be able to make the felines at Perfecto fear us, and all other rodents as well. It would be an interesting way of getting the upper paw on our traditional predators—

"Oh, you want money, then," he sighed. "Here." He pulled wads of cash from his pockets and threw them on our laps. "Five thousand dollars—EACH—right now, for being so nice to give me your time, AND for keeping things between us until we get the job done. Ten thousand more—each—if you agree, and ten thousand on top of that—again, for each—if we ship him back."

Our jaws would have dropped to the floor if we had received his toony training. We knew Montana never tossed out money like this—unless he was dead serious about getting something HERE and NOW.

"You're one desperate looser, aren't you?" asked Roddy.

"Let's just say that the sooner he's gone the better. Hey, it's one less Mexican gone from California; doesn't that sound patriotic, at least?"

"Then I'm in," said Roddy. "Ruby?"

It was an interesting amount of money, sure enough, though I wasn't exactly in debt. And the thought of felines fearing me seemed quite congenial. "He really has attacked females?"

"Three of them."

"And he's managed to make himself look like the victim?"

"The faculty and our news channel have swallowed his story hook, line, and sinker."

It was basically a combination of both arguments: striking fear into the hearts of felines, and getting rid of an attacker, rather than the money he offered, that did me in.

"Where and when?"

At this point, the limo stopped. "Just carry on as always—for now—and if anyone asks, just tell them that I tried to convince you to a double-or-nothing bet over what you lost at the Acme Bowl. I will contact you later."

He sat back and said nothing more. The door opened again, and we saw that we were in front of my house. Still quite surprised, we took the money and stepped out. No sooner had we done that when the door closed and the limo sped off again.

I had no idea what I had got myself into.


	4. Preparations and Confrontations

II — PREPARATIONS AND CONFRONTATIONS

Neither Roddy nor I mentioned Montana's offer to anyone, or even to each other. In fact, several days later I began to think that he had forgotten his offer and that I had bagged myself $5,000 for not saying anything.

It was during one class, just before lunch, that Roddy got a call on his cell phone.

"What—? What, now—? Yeah, right, how are we supposed to get from here to there in 5 minutes—? What, really—? Okay, we can do that. Which room—? This better not be a setup, because if it is—I see. We're on our way."

As he hung up, I asked him, "What's going on?"

"It's time," he replied, standing up and grabbing my paw. I, too, stood up, wondering if it had been Montana who had called. Roddy then looked at the teacher and said, "Family emergency," at which the teacher just shrugged and thusly we were able to ditch class without any problem. The fact that it was nearly lunchtime probably helped, too.

"That was Montana?" I asked.

"Yes. We have to get to the Looser-versity right away. It seems he finally wants to discuss the procedure, and he needs all four of us to agree on it."

"Four?"

"Yes, it seems that looser green duck also wants a piece of that wetback. We'll discuss it during their lunch."

"Won't we be cutting it close?"

"Not really, their lunch hour is one period ahead of ours. Still, he was kind enough to send his limo here to pick us up and then take us back when we're done. And you know that his limo is FAST."

I ran with him to the entrance, getting rather nervous about ditching school AND sneaking in to the rival campus. I tried to convince myself that it was for a good cause, or as good as a Perfectoid can plan it, because we were going to get rid of an attacker, a foreigner, and we were going to get good money for it.

We ran straight out the entrance and into Montana's limo, apparently having arrived moments earlier and with a door held open for us. Again, Roddy dragged me in, and I nearly fell this time, if it wasn't for the fact that my stumbling made me end up sitting on his lap. I don't know if that was intentional on his part, but I guess I really didn't mind. Not that it mattered anyway, since I really didn't see how we could get in some snuggle time while in the middle of a hit operation.

The limo was fast, too. It seemed as if we had barely entered when suddenly the door opened again and Montana's chauffeur let us out.

"Now what?" I asked, apprehensive of actually being in the Looser-versity campus without having a reason that had to do with sports.

Roddy took my paw, "Room 117. It's on the ground floor, and since they're in the middle of class, no one should see us go inside. Come on!" He practically dragged me inside again, and I stumbled after him. Maybe it was the prospect of getting his money back, but Roddy had lately started becoming a bit impulsive. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, seeing we were in enemy territory and both of us were glancing left and right to make sure no one had spotted us. Suddenly he opened a door and we stumbled inside. And it was a good thing he was still holding my paw, because I nearly fell over a chair.

Or at least it sounded like a chair. The room wasn't being used for a class at the moment, and since there were no windows, it was completely dark. I felt Roddy releasing my paw and start fumbling along the wall looking for the light switch. "This had better be worth the money," I quipped. I was nervous enough as it was due to just being in on the "hunt", and now I was sneaking into a place I swore I would never set a foot-paw in.

Roddy found the switch and turned on the lights. There were a few computer stations, some drawing boards, a projector, several video and still cameras, and a table. Looking down I saw that I did almost fall over a chair. "We wait here," he said. "Montana will be here as soon as the next period starts. When we hear the bell ring, we turn off the lights and wait. In the meantime, he left us here some info about our target."

Emotionally drained, I slumped on a chair and leaned on the table, not really caring about the information for the moment. I tried to relax, reminding myself that this was all to get rid of an attacker. To my comfort, Roddy sat next to me. I guess I was more drained than I thought, because I took his paw and sort of leaned against him. Maybe he was exhausted as well, because he didn't cuddle back, or maybe he didn't think cuddling in this place seemed romantic at all.

Perhaps it was that the whole set up that was draining me. I live a very comfortable life without emotional roller coasters, and now I had been angry, shocked, and very nervous in a very short period of time. Maybe it was the fact that I was realising I had such intense emotions that were making me feel rather vulnerable, and dare I say it—

—afraid.

There were very few moments of my life when I felt _truly_ afraid. Even when Babs made us—quit smoking—I don't think I was really afraid, just momentarily terrified and very annoyed. The fright was over in a minute or two, but this present feeling of fear had not gone away.

And I hated feeling vulnerable like this.

What was more, knowing that Roddy wasn't exactly Mr. Olympia, I wondered if he would stay by my side, should anything go wrong.

Roddy, however, had noticed a folder on the table that had the information Montana had gathered. He took it and read the notes to see just what we had to deal with. Since it was going to be a while until the loosers' lunch, I decided to kill time by reading up on whom I hoped was as chauvinistic as Montana had said he was.

The first page began:

Name: WHO THE (CENSORED) CARES?

Age: A teenager, but see above

Gender: Male

Species: _Panthera onça_ (jaguar)

Weight: Heavy…

There was a picture of our target as well. It was more a sketch than an actual photograph, and for a moment I wondered if the "artist" had exaggerated on making the feline look fierce and dangerous. He certainly seemed heavy, and the jewellery he wore made him look like a gang member. Being a rodent, I felt some fright at the sight of a feline, and a roaring one as well, but perhaps it was the fact that I was looking at a sketch, and not a photograph, that made me wonder if this cat was as fierce as he seemed.

We continued to read up on our target, learning how he travelled by bicycle, how he seemed to teleport over short distances, his apparent shielding against lightning, his apparent high tolerance against skunk spray, and how he had an interesting "sleeper" hold, a bit like the Vulcan nerve pinch. Montana had apparently used a hidden directional microphone to spy on this guy and his friends, as some of the info seemed to be transcripts of conversations. As I read on, I started to worry about the success of our project. The jaguar had been hunted before in Mexico, rather repeatedly, both with bullets and with tranquillisers. If he had, then it was possible that he would have tolerance against those drugs, which probably explained his tolerance against skunk attacks.

The next pages were computer diagrams of the proposed rifles, darts, and tranquillisers to use. There was a chart of several types of drugs that showed their reaction time according to the weight of the target. What worried me there was that some charts had incomplete rows of reaction times as the dosage increased. A footnote confirmed my fears:

"Overdose at this weight. May be fatal depending on tolerance."

Quickly looking back at the size of the darts and the amount they could hold, I checked to see if it was possible to give him an overdose. Comparing the capacity of the largest dart to the most potent drug, I sighed with relief when I saw that the dosage would be well within the safety zone, according to the estimate of the jaguar's weight.

"You'd think we were hunting elephants with what Montana wants to use," said Roddy.

"Or he could be making sure that he doesn't get away. I still wonder what he needs us for."

"Maybe to grab that cat as soon as he's hit? From these charts, it looks like he's going to put up a good struggle before he conks out."

"Ugh," I spat. "Is that what we have to do? Wrestle this cat to the ground?"

"That's one way of defeating a feline—and if there are witnesses, all they will see is two rodents defeating a panther—which will make us look good."

"If we END UP looking good," I retorted, "Look, Roddy, I just don't want to get feline germs on me! Who knows where he's been!"

"In the jungle, according to this info. Maybe Montana will provide HAZMAT suits so we can grab him without problems."

"I hope so. I'd hate to break any claws over this, even if we ARE getting big bucks." At this point, a cuckoo clock outside signalled lunchtime. Taking precautions, Roddy ran to the switch and turned off the lights, in case anyone decided to check this room.

We didn't have to wait long for Montana, or that green duck. As he entered, the human boy seemed rather ticked off at something, or someone, considering that he had bits of cake frosting all over himself.

Montana locked the door to the animation room once the two were inside. The duck looked at us, and though the darkness hid us somewhat, he seemed to recognise us.

"Now _this_ was certainly expected of you," he told Montana, as he took out a disk from his body pocket and walked to a computer and projector, which were conveniently placed on one end of the classroom.

Montana wiped some icing remnants off himself as he sat down near the screen. "What were you able to find out?"

The duck ran the program, turned on the projector, and stepped up to the screen. It showed a computerised map of Acme Acres, which rotated and zoomed to where Acme Looniversity was located. He explained as he pulled out a long metal pointer, "Aerial recon—reconni—spying—revealed that the jaguar _always_ takes this path from the Looniversity to the forest." A red line emerged from the Looniversity's main entrance and zigzagged through the city, until it reached the forest, stopping there. Another red line began from a certain restaurant and zigzagged its way as well. "He has an alternate path if he starts from Weenie Burgers, but it converges on his original path here," he pointed to where both lines joined. "Tree cover in the forest is very thick, and I couldn't get any information from there. The forest dwellers also heard and saw what happened on your first encounter there, Monty, so they refused to disclose any information to me."

"Looks like we'll have to do it in the city, then," said Roddy.

The city? Wouldn't that be risky?

"But how?" I asked, suddenly trying to see if this whole thing was actually feasible. "We'll always have an audience, and the way he keeps to the right side of the street, if we attempt a drive-by shooting, we'll risk hitting others. Even with a point-blank shot, the tranquilliser will take at least one minute to take effect, giving him enough time to fight back or call for help. And that's _if_ he's not pedalling alone. And even if he was, anyone nearby with a cell phone could call the cops on us." Everything suddenly seemed like a bad idea. I don't know if I was chickening out or—

"Not necessarily," said the duck, to my disappointment. The image then zoomed in to a particularly long block. "The J.A.M.—" was that the jaguar's name? "—turns right on this street, whether he's coming from the Looniversity or Weenie Burgers. Here, he doesn't keep right, but instead moves next to the median." An even greater zoom showed the path as the duck described it. "That's because he has to take a left at the next corner. This particular segment of his commute is long, with a very wide street and scattered businesses near the corners. We'll have a very small audience here, if any."

"But what do we do about the tranquilliser delay, duck?" I asked him, holding the charts up at him, now getting more and more nervous. "Even the most potent dose on the largest dart will give him at least a sixty second window of escape. Anything more potent will kill him on the spot, and we don't want a murder in our paws." Even if he was an attacker, or a foreigner, there were some things I just wouldn't do.

"Hold it," said Montana. "That sixty second window will work with just one dose, right?" That boy was clearly determined.

"Actually, that's an approximation," replied Roddy, going over the charts again. "He said he's been hunted before, so we don't know how much tolerance he's built up so far. We don't have his exact weight, either. It _could_ be from two to eight minutes." And I wasn't planning on wrestling with him that long.

"From just _one_ dose?" insisted Montana. What was he getting at?

"Yes. Are you saying we should shoot him repeatedly?" asked Roddy.

Now how would THAT be possible? Was there a machine gun that would shoot darts instead of bullets?

"Additional shots will draw attention to us," I said, hoping that they would ditch this plan. For some reason, the money didn't seem so appealing now, and I just wanted OUT of the whole deal. "And right from the first shot, he's likely to roar in pain and wobble on his bicycle, becoming a harder target." And should he be walking, it was possible that he could teleport immediately after getting shot.

"Not if we all shoot at the same time," explained Montana, standing up and walking to the computer. I looked at the boy with nervousness and fright. All these times we said "we", I assumed that someone else would do the shooting and then Roddy and me would wrestle the jaguar to the ground. Now, Montana seemed to want more than one person doing the shooting, and I hoped it would be him and that duck.

As he came closer, I could see more clearly the bits of frosting that clung to his hair and clothes, and could detect the slight smell of egg that it generated. He had apparently just been on the end of a toony gag, one that he obviously didn't enjoy. But as he typed furiously on the keyboard, his expression changed from tremendously annoyed to gleaming with the delight of genius.

"There," he said, pointing back at the projected image. The view of the street zoomed closer and shifted to the centre of the two blocks. "Here is the middle of that street. There is nothing but walls on either side. And the jaguar comes here:" A yellow dot blinked its way from left to right, near the dividing line. "Now, one shot will take too long to take effect, but if we put a sniper here, here, here, and here," he pointed to positions on the roofs on buildings on both sides of the street, and, I noticed, they formed a square, "and if they all fire at the same time, we can get a quadruple dose on him, which, according to the charts, will knock him out in ten seconds, at most. No amount of tolerance will be able to save him now." The view reset and the yellow dot blinked its way across again, only this time, four white dots on the buildings tracked dotted lines toward it. Then, when the dotted lines formed an "x" when the yellow dot was on the exact centre, they all blinked rapidly as the movement stopped.

That would be the moment they all would fire.

The "x" disappeared, and Montana continued, "A van will appear at that moment and haul him in." A black rectangle came in from the other side, stopping where the wobbling yellow dot was. The yellow dot moved into the rectangle, which then "drove" off the left side of the screen.

Montana stepped in front of the screen. "It's fool-proof."

"Maybe," said Roddy, "but how is driving a van going to make us look good? Or are we going to yank him inside?"

The boy looked at my boyfriend. "No, rodent. You're not going to be in the van. You're going to be on the roof, with me and Plucky."

Hold it.

This was NOT part of the deal.

Or was it?

"BOTH of us?" I asked.

"Yes," Montana whispered with delight. "Imagine that: two rodents successfully hunting one of the largest feline predators in the world."

So THAT was the catch of the deal. Twenty-five thousand dollars, if WE—if I shot the jaguar. True, we wouldn't use bullets, but even if we weren't going to do any permanent damage, I just HAD to get out of that deal somehow. "News flash, Montana," I hissed, hoping he wouldn't sense my fear, "I don't know about you or the duck here, but neither Roddy nor I have ever held a gun IN OUR LIVES. Do you actually expect to re-create the Kennedy assassination with OUR help?"

"And did you think that we WEREN'T going to practice for this?" he retorted.

"Practice?" asked Roddy.

"There are a few things that I've picked up here at the Loo that will help you build up your aim, AND help us practice the whole operation to make sure it proceeds without any problems." He chuckled, "Education works wonders, you know."

"And just WHERE are we supposed to practice this?"

* * *

He somehow managed to sneak us off campus, and he drove the four of us to his mansion, where he had the holodeck-type simulator. We didn't try it right away, since he and the duck had to program it with all the necessary data. 

Instead, he gave Roddy and me the rifles we would be using, complete with telescopic sight. I held the weapon in my paws, a bit surprised that it was lighter than I thought it would be. Thinking about it, I realised that this was because the rifle shot darts, not bullets, so it didn't need that much weight to counter the annoying recoil. Still, as I held the metal in my paws, it felt strange, foreign, alien, as if it had nothing to do with me, almost repulsive, like Buster and Babs. I just wanted it away from me.

"You can start by getting the feel of it, and you can practice out here today. And remember, be ONE with the gun," smiled Montana, in an attempt to be Zen.

Yeah, right, be ONE with something you wanted nothing to do with. Still, Montana had set up two bull's-eyes out on his back yard, and a wood "rampart" 10 metres from it. His butler led us to the area and provided us with darts and lemonade, as well as the instruction booklets of the rifles—

—and two wads of 100 Ben Franklins, the second bulk of our payment. We snatched the money and stuffed it in our pockets, now looking forward to completing this "hunt".

There were no chairs, and the "rampart" came up to our waists, so I assumed we had to kneel on the grass. At first, that repulsed me, but looking at the good condition Montana kept his lawn in, I tried to convince myself that it wouldn't be a big deal. Following the instructions, I half-kneeled, wishing I had worn pants, and tried to load one dart.

I was clumsy at first, naturally, trying to find the safety, the chamber, loading the chamber, shutting the chamber, and then trying to get comfortable as I aimed at the target. My first shots didn't even hit the bull's-eye, but I smiled inwardly because Roddy's aim was also very terrible. I hated the telescopic sight because it showed perfectly well what an unsteady paw I had, and the image in it barely stayed still as I tried to aim. Montana had obviously considered this and had the darts loaded with water, and the "yard" was actually a very large field, and there was no one behind the targets, so any stray darts would not harm anyone.

The booklet had interesting techniques for controlling breathing, as well as relaxing just before firing. I guess Hollywood got it all wrong again, considering all I had seen in movies and television, well, at least those that had sniper scenes. It all seemed a bit complex at first, but as we continued practicing loading, aiming, breathing, and shooting, the rifle became less and less alien and more comfortable to handle, and my grip became more and more steady. Eventually, we got the hang of shooting at 10 metres, and then 20, and then up to 50 metres, which, I later learned, was much longer than the distance we would be from the jaguar.

I quickly lost track of time as we continued practicing, though I did wonder if Montana or that duck had already sharpened their aim. Roddy and I then started a little contest to see who could hit the dead centre of the bull's-eye the most times, which did wonders for my aim, and yes, I beat him by one shot, and yes, I cheated (as was expected of a Perfectoid) by "accidentally" caressing his tail with the tip of my tail, and then keeping my tail away from his on the final shot.

We were completely exhausted by the end of the day, so we told Montana we'd come back tomorrow, which we did. Roddy and I spent more time on the field, gradually improving our steady grip and our aim, and a few hours later Montana came out and told us that the simulator was ready.

A surprisingly realistic simulator, I noticed. Maybe it was a heat lamp on the ceiling, but the "sun" generated the heat that we would be encountering when we went to hunt the jaguar. Since we were rookies, Montana had decided that the hunt would be on a clear and calm day, with no wind gusts to ruin any shot. We just couldn't risk missing a single shot, unless the guys at the van didn't mind a thirty-second mauling from the jaguar.

The simulator helped us synchronise our shots, as well as see just how far we'd have to aim. Also, the roofs of the buildings were more or less re-created from what they really were so we'd choose a comfortable spot and position to make our shot.

Everything was very business-like, to the point that I stopped thinking of that jaguar as a toon, and started thinking of him as a moving target; just something to put the cross hairs on and pull the trigger on once Montana gave the signal.

Still, there was something about the rifle, and the way it felt in my paws, that was making me uncomfortable. Maybe it was the fact that it was my first "hunt", or maybe it was the fact that it would be the first time I ever pointed a weapon at someone, even as deserving as that attacker was. The point was that after every session in the simulator, I would practically fall into Roddy's arms, emotionally exhausted.

Was it the fact that I was a female? That duck had been eyeing me with slight contempt; perhaps he just WANTED to say something sexist or chauvinistic concerning my role in this operation, and perhaps he didn't because he couldn't risk Montana getting angry at him if I should quit the whole mission, much less getting Roddy angry at him.

I wonder how much Montana was paying him?

On and on we practiced, until finally we were able to pull off the operation smoothly and without a hitch.


	5. Et Tu, Kennedy?

III — ET TU, KENNEDY?

It wasn't until Montana called Roddy during one of our lunch breaks that I realised that all this training was about to be put to use.

"This is it," he said, hanging up.

"He's picking us up and taking us to the street?" I asked, trying very hard not to sound nervous. I wondered how Roddy could pull it off.

"We'll be going to his place for one final practice session, and then we'll wait for the jaguar after school." Roddy looked out the window and commented, "Nice day, don't you think?"

Inwardly, I had been thankful that we had rain recently, and now with a perfect day outside it seemed as if nature was mocking me, almost daring me to pull off this little stunt of ours.

Again, no one suspected as we left Perfecto and were taken to Montana's mansion. And again, we practiced, doing our jobs almost automatically. I don't know how many times I shot that dart into the virtual jaguar's shoulder or chest, but at the end it seemed as if all I had to do was pull the trigger and instantly the dart would appear on him. Now it was all up to the guys at the van to complete the job.

We were all set.

As we loaded our rifles and darts into their protective bags, I suddenly realised something. "Hey, Human Boy, did you ever figure out how we're going to get inside the buildings AND reach the roof while carrying all this stuff WITHOUT anyone getting suspicious?"

Montana looked at the duck, and both held their equipment firmly, "Watch and learn, rodents." He walked up to me and the duck walked up to Roddy. Then, both jumped, grabbed something, and pulled two backdrops down to the ground. One moment we were in Montana's simulator, and the next thing I knew was that we were on top of the REAL buildings. I glanced around, but neither Roddy nor the duck were nearby.

"We're over here," I heard Roddy say over the headset, which we hadn't bothered to take off. Looking around, I saw that the two were on the building directly in front of us.

"Education works wonders," repeated Montana. "Now, take your post and stay out of sight. My other lookouts will tell me when that cat is about to get here." I said nothing, assuming that we would leave the same way. I adjusted my headset and took my equipment several buildings ahead of Montana.

Everything was very much the same as it had been on the simulator, with the exception that the texture of the roof felt rough against my foot-pads, and the rampart was slightly rougher than I expected. There were also the background noises typical of a city such as Acme Acres that seemed to fill my head, and though the sound was barely a whisper, the tension made it seem almost deafening.

We had time to set things up, so I laid out a thin blanket over the rampart and on part of the roof so I would be slightly more comfortable. Roddy had advised against me wearing pants today, sensing that someone might get suspicious if I suddenly changed my wardrobe, or saw me duck into a locker room to change for no apparent reason, so now, wearing a skirt would not be problem.

Sitting on the blanket, I took out the rifle from its bag and went over my checklist, making sure that its parts worked correctly. I practiced loading and reloading for a bit, but quickly got bored. I put the rifle back in its bag and kneeled to look over the rampart.

The street was practically empty, with no pedestrians whatsoever, all of them probably on the adjacent streets. Even traffic seemed to prefer the adjacent streets. Everything was calm; there was no wind, no clouds, and hardly any noise. I looked down at the pavement and saw the two white lines that had been spray-painted next to the median, which marked the centre of our "square". I was at the corner of the roof of my building, and the building next to me was slightly taller, so to my left there was a taller rampart hiding me from view. Ahead of me I could see Roddy stationed next to a stone gargoyle. Looking back over the rooftops, I could barely make out that green duck cowering behind a lighted sign. I couldn't see Montana from where I was, but I knew he was behind a billboard. Looking at the opposite corner, I knew that Montana had his black van waiting to pick up the jaguar.

Now, all we had to do was wait.

I sat down and leaned against the rampart, doing just that.

So we waited.

And waited.

"Montana, is he even coming down this street?" asked Roddy, finally.

"He's at Winnie Burgers," he replied. "Celebrating something, it seems. It will be the last meal he eats in the United States of America." He was obviously trying to sound patriotic and maybe trying to stir our resolve into completing this "hunt", but it all seemed staged, somehow.

I just shook my head, wishing all of this were over. Absently, I took out my water bottle to get some relief from the heat—

"He's leaving Weenie Burgers," Montana's announcement nearly made me do a spit-take. "Stand by."

I scrambled to put my bottle away and pulled out my rifle and a loaded dart—loaded with the real thing this time, I realised.

…_breathe…_ I told myself.

Turning, I half-kneeled in front of the rampart.

…_breathe…_

"He's about to turn the corner now," said Montana.

…_breathe…_

I opened the rifle's firing chamber, loaded the huge dart, and shut the chamber again.

…_breathe…_

"Okay, he just turned into the street. I can take him out from right here!" whispered the duck into his headset.

"Wait until he's in position!" growled Montana. "We can't risk anyone missing a shot, so we'll fire when he's right at the centre!"

I leaned on the rampart and looked down, spotting the jaguar as he turned into the street and pedalled toward us, slowly changing lanes so he was near the divider.

…_breathe…_

Twenty metres from the bull's-eye.

"Okay, prepare to fire, on my mark!" whispered Montana. "You guys at the van, get ready to move!"

Raising my rifle a bit and pressing it against my shoulder, I brought the image of the jaguar into my telescopic sight. I wasn't sure if I should feel apprehensive, being a rodent and him being a feline, or angry, with him being an attacker, or just plain scared, as I was about to plant a dart on his shoulder or chest.

The image on my scope barely moved as I tracked his approach.

…_breathe…_

Fifteen metres from the bull's-eye.

I was finally able to see his face—his real face—for the first time. I wasn't expecting him to look exactly like Montana's sketches, but still, he certainly didn't seem like someone who would normally maul any female who approached.

That, or he was incredibly cynical and had a smug look on his face.

And he was smiling, too, for some reason. I wonder what he had been "celebrating" at Winnie Burgers.

I lowered my ears in anticipation, and heard the faint roar of the van's engine as it came to life.

…_breathe…_

Ten metres from the bull's-eye.

_What am I doing?_

I didn't know why I had just thought that. Maybe it was the finality of everything that was suddenly making me re-think the whole "hunt". Maybe it was female intuition, but something about all this just did not add up.

…_breathe…_

Nine metres from the bull's-eye.

_What am I doing?_

I thought I heard roller skates, but dismissed that.

…_breathe…_

Eight metres from the bull's-eye.

_What am I doing?_

The image on my scope was perfectly steady.

…_breathe…_

Seven metres from the bull's-eye.

_**What** am I doing?_

I put the crosshairs on his right shoulder.

This was it.

_I'm going to wipe that smug smile off your face, attacker._

Six metres from the bull's-eye.

…_brea—_

"JAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMM!"

"Huh?"

I saw the jaguar slowly apply the brakes and turn his head slightly to his right, making the crosshairs move to his chest.

…_breathe…?_

Five metres from the bull's-eye.

I couldn't take my eye off him, not without risking missing my shot. But I definitely heard someone skating, and skating very fast.

…_breathe…!_

_What **am** I doing?_

Three metres from the bull's-eye.

The jaguar was slowing down, making himself an even MORE perfect target. His smug expression then turned into that of confusion.

"JAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMM!"

Was someone screaming his name? And why weren't any of the others saying what was happening?

The jaguar's ears laid back. That wasn't a good sign.

…_hold your breath…_

"WARP! WAAARP! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRPPP!"

Two metres from the bull's-eye.

Had someone spotted us?

_What am **I** doing?_

One metre from the bull's-eye.

…_hold your breath…!_

I couldn't lose concentration now. I had to fire before taking another breath or I would miss my—

"Mary?" asked the duck.

Target inside the bull's-eye.

…_hold your breath…!_

The jaguar stopped.

_What am I **DOING**!_

"Fire!"

The image on my scope blurred for one instant—

………_squeeze………_

(CHOON!)

My brain never ordered my finger to pull the trigger…

If I had seen what was happening I would have stood down…

But reflex, instinct, and Montana's training did their job.

And did it perfectly well.

My dart zoomed down to its target before I could blink.

(WHAM!)

…_hold your breath…_

What happened?

"Oh (CENSORED)," I heard Roddy curse.

…_hold your breath…_

Pulling my rifle away, I finally saw what was happening on the street. Someone had jumped on the jaguar at the last moment and threw him and his bicycle down to the pavement. From his struggling, it was clear that none of us got a hit.

"Hey, just what the bleep do you think you're doing!" I heard him growl to his "shield". He said something else, and his "shield" replied something too, but I couldn't hear what they said because the van's engine drowned them out as it turned the corner and sped toward them.

…_hold your breath…_

The "shield" turned her head to look up at the jaguar. I could finally see the face: an African-American girl who had just saved his life. Odd, I had the feeling I had seen that face before. Was she one of the "no-names" at the Looniversity?

…_hold your breath…_

It was then that the girl seemed to zone out—

"Abort! Abort! Abort!" hissed Montana. The van revved its engine, passed them, and went on its way.

Wait, what happened to the darts?

The jaguar stopped being angry and now became concerned.

…_hold your breath…_

Oh no.

I grabbed my rifle again and pointed the telescope at the two toons on the street, just as onlookers began approaching.

…_hold your breath…_

I saw my dart.

…_hold your breath…_

It wasn't on the jaguar's shoulder or chest.

…_hold your breath…_

The jaguar stiffened, obviously having made the same discovery.

…_hold your breath…_

My dart was behind the girl's right shoulder.

…_hold your breath…_

I could see the other darts also embedded on her torso.

…_hold your breath…_

The jaguar was speaking to her, but she was not responding. He was obviously beginning to get scared, as I saw him lower his ears and stiffen his tail.

…_hold your breath…_

"MARY!" he roared.

…_hold your breath…_

I fell back, leaning against the taller rampart, looking at the roof of the building.

…_hold your breath…_

All those charts flashed in front of my eyes. What was surprising to me was that up to that moment, I didn't know I had photographic memory, because every single chart stood out in front of me with the clearest of details, as if I was looking at them—for real—in front of my face.

…_hold your breath…_

I figured that the girl, Mary, was no more than one-half the body mass of the jaguar. Calculations stumbled through my head as number after number stood out.

…_hold your breath…_

And if she just received a fast-acting dose of tranquilliser meant for someone twice her body mass………

…_hold your breath…_

"Overdose at this weight. May be fatal depending on tolerance."

…_hold your breath…_

And if she had absolutely no tolerance whatsoever built up before hand………

…_hold your breath…_

"SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE!" I heard the jaguar roar, making my fur bristle with terror.

…_hold your breath…_

My paws, completely steady moments ago, now shook like Southern California. I weakly raised them to my muzzle to stifle a scream—I wanted to scream—I needed to scream—I—

…_hold your breath…_

I couldn't scream.

_What…_

…_have…_

…_I…_

…_done…?_

I might have heard Montana running toward me, jumping off the rampart and yelling something at me, something about money and keeping quiet and getting the hell out of there but not without his very expensive rifles or headsets, then yelling on his headset at the green duck to get the rifle, and maybe Roddy if he didn't want to get caught, but it might have all been a daydream.

…_hold your breath…_

I think that the only reason he didn't leave me on the roof was because I was still holding his very expensive rifle.

He did the same trick of pulling down the backdrop, and I think we ended up in his mansion again. There, Montana, Roddy, and the duck began arguing about what had happened, but to me, it looked like they were speaking a foreign language. Roddy then gestured at me, and I think he asked me something, but he didn't make any sense. He then repeated his question, but he still didn't make sense.

…_hold your breath…_

He suddenly yanked the rifle out of my paws and shook me by the shoulders, "—t girl, BREATHE!"

…_breathe…!_

"GASP!" I snapped out of my shock. How long had I been holding my breath?

"—ear, rodent? You saw nothing, you heard nothing, you KNOW nothing!" hissed Montana.

I looked at him, at the duck, at Roddy, and at the façade of the mansion. Suddenly, I started trembling, from my ears to my tail, unable to stop. I didn't know what was happening to me—I had never felt so scared, not for myself, but for the life of someone—

…_breathe…_

Oh no.

"R—Roddy—did—did—we just kill someone?" I whimpered.

"Let's hope not."

My question seemed to sober up the other two, but Montana still repeated to my face, "You saw nothing, you heard nothing, you KNOW nothing!"

Never had a human repulsed me so much as Montana Max did that moment.

…_breathe…_

"G—get—get me out of here—get me out of here now—" I mumbled, clutching Roddy's arm and hiding my face on his shoulder. He held me protectively, trying to push down the trembling, without success, and sometime later we got on—someone's—limo. As we left, I thought I heard that duck finally making his chauvinistic comment about females, but that didn't seem to matter that much to me anymore.

Nothing seemed to matter now, not even the money I got out of this.


	6. Respira

IV — RESPIRA

Roddy took me home, and seeing the condition I was in, decided to stay with me for a while, perhaps to make up an alibi that the two of us were on a date and never on that cursed street. So we just sat on the couch of my living room, doing nothing, and saying nothing.

Nothing could be done or said, nothing that we knew of.

Never had either of us encountered a situation like this.

…_breathe…_

As the evening wore on, I gradually stopped needing to remind myself to breathe, and my trembling had subsided, at long last.

"R—Roddy?" I asked, finally.

"Yes, babe?"

"Did—did we kill that girl—Mary?" Normally I never bothered to learn the names of any looser, but the jaguar's roar had laser-burned Mary's name into my brain.

"Of course not, babe! She's a toon, remember? You can't kill a toon!"

"Um—right—right, I—forgot about that." Then why did the charts warn against FATAL overdoses? Was it referring to non-toons?

Roddy tried to get my mind off today's events and turned on the television. A familiar song played, and an announcer said, "—CME Breaking News Special Report."

The scene switched to a news desk, where some guy with a beard was sitting. "Good evening, I'm Biff Windsock, filling in for our regular anchorwoman, Mary Melody."

My eyes widened when I heard that name. I perked my ears as high as I could.

"Updating our previous report, Acme Acres General Medical Centre has confirmed that K-ACME's Mary Melody has fallen into a coma…"

…_hold your breath…_

"…working furiously to counter the drug overdose she received earlier today while commuting from Acme Looniversity…"

…_hold your breath…_

"…still unclear how Mary Melody was shot, but witnesses say that she appeared to be protecting a furry toon, apparently also a student of…"

…_hold your breath…_

"…still unclear on whether she or the other toon, or both, were the intended targets. Acme Acres Police is beginning investigations…"

…_hold your breath…_

"…furry toon she protected, a male jaguar or leopard, was the first to respond to the shooting and began CPR when he realised she wasn't breathing…"

…_hold your breath…_

"…first responder was not available for comment…"

…_hold your breath…_

"…news team standing by when the ambulance arrived at Acme General…"

…_hold your b—_

I leaned forward when I saw Mary's inert body being taken down from the ambulance. All the cameras were on her, obviously, and with all the flashing lights, anyone else who was nearby practically disappeared into the background, and all I could see was the blank stare in her beautiful dark brown eyes—

…_hold your breath…_

But then I saw him.

As a First Responder, he was required to ride with her and stay in the hospital until dismissed by authorities, so he was there.

…_hold your breath…_

The jaguar was in the ambulance, in the shadows, practically hiding from the lights and the cameras.

He no longer had that "smug" face he had earlier.

I had succeeded in my mission.

…_hold your breath…_

Now he had an expression of inhumane worry, of fear of losing something precious to him, as well as determination to fight for her life in whatever way he could.

…_hold your breath…_

He seemed to be praying to whatever God he believed in.

…_hold your breath…_

Suddenly, the emblems that hung from his gold chain seemed to jump out at me. Was he truly as evil as Montana said he was?

…_hold your breath…_

Perhaps it was because someone swung a boom around as Mary was wheeled into the hospital, but right there, I clearly heard the jaguar say:

"…_ua, respira…"_

And what was even more frightening was that at that exact instant, his orange eyes were staring straight at the camera—

—straight at me.

…_hold your breath…_

The cameras followed the stretcher, and the jaguar stealthily followed the cameras, instinctively staying in the background. Maybe he was very shy, or maybe he just didn't want to be seen at the moment, but still, I could see where he was. His movements were graceful, feline, and perfectly practiced by someone who had been hunted before.

Roddy's phone rang again, but I didn't care. The jaguar's word and face were also embedded in my head now:

"…respira…"

I was getting suspicious of Montana: the news weren't saying anything about the jaguar causing any trouble whatsoever at the Looniversity.

"…respira…"

His face was pleading. And it almost seemed as if he was talking to ME—

"That was Montana," said Roddy, hanging up. "He's going to wait until things cool off, and then he'll call us when he comes up with a better plan. I think that this time we're going to HAVE to hunt that stupid jaguar in the foreHURK!"

I don't know what came over me, but right there, I grabbed Roddy by the neck and jerked him to his foot-paws.

"Listen, Roderick! You tell that furless brat that I don't care how much money he offers me, but I am NOT picking up a gun again FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE! I don't care how badly he wants that jaguar gone, or how badly he wants his hide, I don't care what the jaguar has done or HASN'T done, I don't care what Montana's plans are or who he hires now, but I don't want ANYTHING to do with him EVER AGAIN!" And I slammed the door on his face.

It took me a moment to realise that I had just pushed Roddy out of the living room and shoved him out of my house.

…_hold your breath—_  
"…respira…"

And then I got the most sickening feeling I had ever experienced, welling up from the pit of my stomach. I was suddenly so disgusted at Roddy, Montana, that duck, but most of all, _myself_, that I clamped my paws on my muzzle and stumbled to the bathroom, where I—literally—tossed my cookies.

…_hold your breath—_  
"…respira…"

_At myself._ I had NEVER felt so disgusted at myself. After some impromptu cleansing, I stumbled back into the spinning living room and flopped on the couch.

…_hold your breath—_  
"…respira…"

"…send our well wishes to her family and friends. Private vigils are springing up among our staff and Acme Looniversity students and faculty…"

Vigils?

"…more news tonight at 10…"

I shut off the television, and buried my face in my paws. I still couldn't scream or even cry.

…_hold your breath—_  
"…respira…"

I sat there and sat there in total silence, shivering in fright whenever I heard a distant ambulance or police siren.

The trembling was creeping its way back.

I was glad my mother and sister weren't home to see me like th—

Vigils?

…_hold your breath—_  
"…respira…"

It suddenly dawned on me that Montana's opinion of Mary being a "no-name" was completely wrong.

Mary Melody was everything BUT.

She had friends.

She had family.

She had a CAREER, (CENSORED) it!

…_hold your breath—_  
"…respira…"

…and I had just sent Acme Acre's favourite news girl into a coma…

…_hold your breath—_  
"…respira…"

I felt weak, very weak.

…_hold your breath—_  
"…respira…"

I felt afraid, very afraid.

…_hold your breath—_  
"…respira…"

I slumped off the couch and onto the lush brown carpet

…_hold your breath—_  
"…respira…"

I had no idea what else to do, but the news staff and the looser students seemed to be on the right track.

…_hold your breath—_  
"…respira…"

I wobbled on to my knees, weakly leaning against the armrest, waited a bit for the room to stop spinning, and looked up.

"Um…hello…"

…_hold your breath—_  
"…respira…"

"…uh, look, I—I'm not sure what Your Name is—or what direction I'm supposed to be facing—or if I'm supposed to be looking at something—or if I'm supposed to be in a particular position, but—uh—this seems just about right. If it isn't—I—I apologise in advance, but—"

…_hold your breath—_  
"…respira…"

"Listen, I—I know we've never talked—or—I never bothered to talk to You—and—I—suppose You frown on that——(sigh), look I know I'm no angel or even a saint, and yes, I did this for the money. I don't know if that jaguar is anything that Montana said he was, or if he deserved anything of what we were about to give him but—but—"

…_hold your breath—_  
"…respira…"

"—it's just that—Mary Melody—she—she had nothing to do with this, okay? She—looks like she's a good person, and trust me, with all the friends she appears to have, it really looks like she—like—"

…_hold your breath—_  
"…respira…"

"Look, what I'm trying to say is that she doesn't deserve to be in a coma. She—doesn't deserve to die. If anyone does—it's—it's me. I—" The tears began flowing, at last. For some reason I felt a gentle release.

…_hold your breath—_  
"…respira…"

"Yes, she—she got in the way. And—just—understand that—that—I—I'm not asking anything for myself. I—don't think I deserve any favours from You at this point—or that I ever will. And if she or the jaguar find out I did it and decide to get back at me—I—I won't blame them—and I'll try to bear whatever they dish out against me. If they never forgive me—I—I won't hold it against them—"

…_hold your breath—_  
"…respira…"

"But—as I said before, Mary looks like she's a good person—though You probably know her better than I do. The—the thing is—that—that————I'm———I'm asking for is—if—if——————"

…_hold your breath—_  
"…respira…"

"Well, You know—if—You could—You know—pull some strings——————here and there————and————and give her back to her family————and her friends———just———————————just—"

…_hold your breath—_  
"…respira…"

I finally collapsed, sobbing into the couch.

"—————just————————don't———————let—————————her———————die——————"

…_hold your breath—_  
"…respira…"

I don't know for how long I kneeled there, just crying my eyes out, and trembling all the more. All the time I was there, however, the jaguar's word, "respira", kept repeating in my head. Also, his face would not leave my mind either, and I kept looking at how he looked at me—

—pleading?

…_hold your breath—_  
"…respira…"

Remembering carefully, the jaguar expression didn't seem to portray a desire for revenge. Yes, he was very upset about what had just happened to his friend, but his expression had no malice whatsoever. It was as if he was telling ME, ASKING me to…to…

…_hold your—_  
"RESPIRA."

Suddenly, I stopped trembling.

Grunting, I got up and stumbled to my computer, waiting a bit as it powered up.

"…respira…"

I quickly went on-line and did a search, hoping I was spelling that word correctly.

"…respira…"

A quick spelling correction and I was on the right track.

"…respira…"

Finally, it was there. A one-word message that the jaguar had "sent" me, a message that, while it only had one word, conveyed volumes of information.

"…respira…"

I didn't know how, or why, or even when, but I somehow felt the assurance that Mary would pull through.

"…respira…"

There was still the issue of how _I_ would deal with this, and how _I_ would recover, if ever, but the jaguar's message would help me pull through as well, one day at a time, one moment at a time—

"…respira…"

—one breath at a time.

"…respira…"

That was what I needed to do, for now.

"…respira…"

The rest would come later.

"…respira…"

"I will, Mister Jaguar. And thank you."

"…respira…"

It was what he was praying, what he was pleading Mary to do—what he was pleading _me_ to do.

"…respira…"

And it would be what I would do.

"…respira…"

At last, I smiled, weakly, but I smiled.

"…respira…"

_Don't hold your breath, Rhubella. Respira: breathe._

THE END / DAS ENDE / DIE EINDE / EINDE / EL FIN / O FIN / LE FIN / IL FINE / SFIRSIT / KONIEC / KONEC / BEIGAS / LOPPU / TELOS / SOF / TAMAT / LIAU LIAU / DANEH O' / WAN-LE / OWARIMASU / SLUTT / SLUT / UXUL


	7. Credits And Bloopers

CREDITS AND BLOOPERS

The Tiny Toons characters were created by Tom Ruegger, Glen Kennedy, Dave Marshall, Ken Boyer, and Rich Arons, I think.

All characters are © Warner Brothers/Amblin Entertainment (and used without permission, but it's doubtful that they mind) EXCEPT FOR:

The J.A.M., who is also © The J.A.M.

and

Biff Windsock, who is © Jerry D. Withers. Used with permission.

The Vulcan nerve pinch was created by Gene Roddenberry and is © Paramount. Used without permission.

* * *

The back window rolled down, and you can imagine our shock when we saw that it was—

—stuck halfway, and then we all started laughing—

"CUT!"

* * *

Props by Acme Co.

Bicycle furnished by Montero.

Mary Melody's wardrobe furnished by Oscar de la Renta.

The J.A.M.'s wardrobe furnished by Yazbek and Casio.

Montana Max's wardrobe furnished by Pierre Cardin and Rolex.

Firearms furnished by Smith & Wesson.

* * *

I ran with him to the entrance, getting rather nervous about ditching school AND—

(BONK!)

—nervous about someone having waxed the floors recently—

"CUT!"

* * *

Original casting by Steven Spielberg.

Additional casting by The J.A.M.

Voice direction by Andrea Romano.

Rhubella Rat is Tress MacNeille

Montana Max is Danny Cooksey

Roderick Rat is Charles Adler

Plucky Duck is Joe Alaskey

Mary Melody is Cree Summer Franks

and

The J.A.M. is Himself

Special appearance by Wolf Blitzer.

* * *

We ran straight out the entrance and into Montana's limo, apparently having arrived moments earlier and with a door held open for us. Again, Roddy dragged me in, and I nearly fell this time, if it wasn't for the fact that my stumbling made me end up sitting on his lap—

"Gee, Roddy, is that your cell phone or are you happy to see me?"

"CUT!"

Roddy blushed like never before, but planted a big wet kiss on Rhubella.

* * *

Music directed by Richard Stone and John Van Tongren.

* * *

"There," he said, pointing back at the projected image. The view of the street zoomed closer and shifted to the centre of the two—

(THUD)

—screen, which now lay on the floor, making us laugh.

"CUT!"

* * *

No copyright infringement is intended or implied. I did all this for the fun of it.

All of the characters, places, and events portrayed in this fanfic are fictitious. Any resemblance to any real persons, places, or events is unintentional and purely coincidental, except in cases of severe self-insertion, I suppose, but even then the similarities are controlled, he he.

* * *

He walked up to me and the duck walked up to Roddy. Then, both jumped, grabbed something, and pulled two backdrops—

(SCRAPE)

—halfway down.

"CUT!"

"It just HAD to happen here," chuckled Plucky.

* * *

SPECIAL THANKS

To Smith & Wesson.

* * *

I was suddenly so disgusted at Roddy, Montana, that duck, but most of all, _myself_, that I clamped my paws on my muzzle and stumbled to the bathroom, where I—literally—tossed my cookies.

(a bag of cookies is suddenly thrown out of the bathroom, and a laughing Rhubella exits a moment later)

"CUT!"

* * *

EXTRA SPECIAL THANKS

To Rottin Kid/The Incredible Werekitty, for the inspiration.

To Jerry D. Withers "Furrball", for the inspiration and for helping me with Rhubella.

To José Ramiro Acosta Pérez, for the inspiration as well.

Just in case you're wondering, the various ways of saying "The End" are written in English, German, Afrikaans, Dutch, Spanish, Portuguese, French, Italian, Romanian, Polish, Russian, Latvian, Finnish, Greek, Hebrew, Malay, Hokkien, Seneca, Chinese, Japanese, Norwegian, Swedish, and Mayan, respectively.

END TAG:

Rhubella comes out of the TTA rings and proclaims, "Now you didn't expect to see me here, did you?"

Until next time, remember:

I AM THE J.A.M.

Good evening.

(WARP!)


End file.
